


Broken Dawn

by TextualDeviance



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Angst, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early light, Stonebridge cherishes the few quiet moments he has with his partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Dawn

The stink of poverty and violence were never far from any place he slept these days. Over the years, Michael Stonebridge had managed to relegate those scents to the back of his mind, erasing them from conscious thought the way one erases the sound of traffic when living in a roadside home. Still, when certain strong smells were as close as they were now, he couldn't help noticing: The blood, and a slight reek of infection, from the slowly healing knife wound decorating Scott's thigh. The heady musk emanating from his naked crotch. And something else—something a little sweeter, if awkward at the moment: a woman. Her perfumed toiletries, he presumed. Her sweat. And the distinct sharpness of the more personal traces she'd left behind on Scott's body. He'd not done more than a quick wash in the bathroom since last night's frantic tryst, so he still smelled like the busty brunette he'd picked up in the hotel bar. She'd gone not long after, leaving behind only a ghost of her presence.

Not that it mattered. By now, Stonebridge was immune to any thoughts of jealousy or worry that Scott would bring back something more dangerous than just a memory of a woman's scent. He knew that the women, save Rebecca, who had kept coming back like a bad burrito, were little more to Scott than a way to blow off steam that wouldn't make him question his credentials of being a red-blooded American male. What really mattered to him, though he would never have admitted it in so many words, was the moody Brit whose head rested on his taut belly. 

The belly was rising and falling in rhythm; Scott had fallen asleep again, almost instantly after he'd released. No doubt the lingering infection and the brutal beatings they'd both endured yesterday had drained him; he needed the rest. Stonebridge needed it, too, but his military instincts always clearly woke him at dawn, no matter what his body otherwise needed, and he never was able to go back to sleep again after waking. Not that he'd wanted to this morning. The warm, strong arms wrapping around him; the hot mouth on the back of his neck; those had worked far better than either alarm clocks or circadian rhythms. It wasn't every gray dawn that his partner left his own bed to crawl in, but the last three days, Stonebridge had found himself clutched tightly, Scott's firm insistence pressing against his hip. It had become a habit of which he was growing fond. He'd started imagining waking up like this every day, though he still dared not hope of going to bed every night the same way. It seemed only sleep softened Scott's rough edges enough to get him to give in to what he needed. Stonebridge wished it were different, but for now, he was taking what he could get, knowing it might eventually stop once the grief over losing Rebecca had passed. 

Scott stirred in his sleepy haze, his callused hand coming up to stroke gently over his partner's head and shoulder. Stonebridge shuddered quietly as the move brought back a distinct memory of Kerry doing the same back in their London flat, back when the world seemed a pretty thing and life made sense. He tried to hang on to the mental image this time. Of late, the good times had become harder to remember clearly without them eventually being shattered by the blood-soaked pain of his last day with her. The memory faded, and he blinked, telling himself it was just the dusty air making his eyes water.

An insistent chime from the bedside table pierced his reverie. Two notes, then a buzz; the ring set for Dalton. Scott moaned softly underneath him and brought his hands up to rub his bleary eyes.

"Time to go save the world again," Stonebridge murmured, petting the American's thigh as he rose to take the call.

"What else are we good for?" Scott said bitterly.

His eyes traveled over the warm body he was leaving behind and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He picked up the phone, and prepared for an earful, but before he slipped into soldier mode, the answer asserted itself in his mind: _More than you know, Damien. More than you will ever know._


End file.
